


Bee and Puppycat: To the Stars

by ez_cookie



Category: Bee and PuppyCat
Genre: F/M, all the wizards are here, frederator wont give us a story so guess i gotta, season 3 fic, spoilers for lazy and space
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-03
Updated: 2020-12-28
Packaged: 2021-03-06 18:55:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 19,620
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26273725
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ez_cookie/pseuds/ez_cookie
Summary: Season Three fic.With everything changing, the only concrete goal Bee can focus on is finding her dad. But as she navigates strained relationships with the Wizards, tries and fails to get answers from an increasingly aloof Puppycat, and deals with malfunctions, that will be easier said than done.
Relationships: Bee/Deckard Wizard (Bee and Puppycat)
Comments: 17
Kudos: 66





	1. Launch

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this fic is what it says on the tin. I'm writing what I imagine season three would be, since the ending of lazy and space left me starving. I'm sticking to what little canon information we have, but there will be a lot of filling in the blanks with headcanon, so please bear with me as I try to stitch the breadcrumbs of story together!

The island hardly ever saw newcomers. It was much like it’s own little pocket dimension, even before they took off into the great canopy of the inky black sky. Those who passed through it before magic sprouted from every corner, before the land broke free from the sea and the earth, before all of it, said that the island had a mystical air to it. Almost a latent potential for beauty and power. It was magical. Perhaps that is why they stayed. 

The Wizards were a family certainly accustomed to weirdness. The siblings had grown up on the island after all, and while they never spoke of it aloud, they were aware of the potential for the fantastical that hung in the air around them. That’s the impression Bee always got, anyway. She too was aware of a lot of things that made the island special. And while the residents of the island around her avoided stopping to consider what all the tangible, mystical potential hanging in the air meant out of fear and a love for the status quo, Bee left the puzzle unfinished because thinking about what lay beyond meant thinking about her Dad. Thinking about him hurt a lot.

Now the island… well. It wasn’t an island so much anymore, Bee reasoned. Even through her distorted vision, she could see the world shaking, feel the propulsion underneath the ground. That was different, she noted quietly. That wasn’t supposed to happen. Or maybe it was. Maybe this was supposed to happen all along. That’s what her dad had said before he left, wasn’t it? That he’d be back. To wait. That one day, they’d be able to blast off into the stars together and leave the world behind. Bee wondered if the shaking meant that he was back. Bee was turning twenty-four in about ten months. When that happened, it would mean she’d been alone longer than she’d been with her dad. 

Bee closed her eyes — she couldn’t see anything clearly anyway, not since she remembered crashing into the ocean, hit down by Moully. She focused on the shaking ground below her. It was all she could feel.

Bee held onto her thoughts as long as she could.

Then powered off.

* * *

When she woke up, the ground wasn’t trembling anymore. She blinked. The ceiling was familiar. There was a stain of spaghetti sauce right in her line of sight, where she’d thrown her bowl in the air for… reasons she couldn’t quite remember. Sometimes that happened when Bee was shut-down. Things came back slowly. Sight was first. She expected sound to start filtering in at any time.

But it was quiet. She listened for the crash of the waves, a constant whispering metronome of the island, but found she could not hear it. She listened for voices. It didn’t seem like anyone was around. She could feel the solid ground of the floorboard beneath her, as well as a subtle… motion. Bee remembered, gradually. She remembered the rumbling. The island… or rather, the ship that had become a small civilization, had taken to the stars. Bee tried to sit up but found she had no command over her limbs yet. She turned her head to the side instead and looked out the window. There was no light filtering in from outside, but the curtains were drawn. Bee had no idea what time it was. 

She turned her gaze back to her chest and saw a blanket draped over her body. She hadn’t done that. She had… vague memories. Distant memories that weren’t quite her, but were solely her hardware. She’d fought those… things possessing Moully. And then… and then…

Bee grunted trying to move any part of her body, desperate to shake off the blanket. Her chest had been ripped open. Was it still exposed? She couldn’t tell, couldn’t feel. 

“Puppycat?” she called. She didn’t know if he’d be able to do anything, but he was most likely the one piloting the ship. Even if everyone else was gone, she still had him, right? 

“Puppycat!” she yelled, louder. She listened for the pitter-patter of feet, the tinkle of a bell collar, or any other tell-tale signs that her strange roommate was nearby. She needed to talk to him. Even if she didn’t fully grasp what was going on, she had a feeling that the both of them had done this. Them and their secrets. 

Bee heard her stomach growl. At least that part of her still worked. She wondered quietly just how long she’d been out. She’d be able to tell, if she could just get up and check the DVR for how many Pretty Patrick episodes she’d missed and figure it out from there. 

Bee heard the front door creak open, followed by a pair of heavy feet straining the wood floor. Not Puppycat then. Another person. 

“Hello?” Bee called up to the ceiling. “…Deckard?”

A few more footsteps vibrated in Bee's ears, approaching her. A scruffy, tired face appeared in her limited field of vision. Bee’s heart bloomed a bit more awake with the familiarity. 

“Oh. You’re awake,” Wesley said. 

_ Not Deckard.  _

“Yes, I’m awake,” Bee said. “I would like to know what is going on, and also  _ why  _ you’re in my apartment… did Puppycat give you a spare key? He tried to mail you one once because he wanted you to teach him to be “cool” or something…”

Wesley sat down on the floor, his face leaving Bee’s general field of vision. He took a moment before responding.

“Your door’s broken.”

Bee turned to head to where the front door was, and sure enough, there was a large gaping hole where the door should’ve been. And just as there was a large hole where the door should have been, there were an awful lot of things taking up space where the island should’ve been. It was still all the same shape, but a lot of the foliage had disappeared, revealing the lights and smooth surfaces of the ship. A large expansive pane of glass encompassed the streets and buildings where there should have been birds and kites. There was an awful lot of… space… where the sky should be.

“Huh,” Bee mumbled to herself. “Well, that’s different.” She turned her head back to a neutral position, scowling at the ceiling. “Wesley,” she said. “I would like some help moving. I want to sit up, and I would like a pillow for my… the butt. So. Help me, please.” Wesley reached down an arm and grasped Bee by her forearm, using his strength to drag her to her feet. She struggled to move, but her attempts were rewarded with discordant clanging as loose parts shifted. The blanket fell with the movement, and there were Bee’s guts, still exposed. Wesley’s gaze was fixed on the hole in her chest, his grasp still firm around her arm, keeping her up. Bee felt her cheeks heat up with indignation. 

“Hey! It’s rude to stare at someone’s guts.” Taking the hint, Wesley turned his head away, leading Bee to her couch, where he helped her onto. She sighed as she felt the familiar cushions under her. It seemed like a small first step towards being okay. 

“A spaghetti-tossing contest,” Bee said, breaking into a smile. Wesley stared at her, expression not faltering. “That’s where the ceiling stain came from,” Bee said to clarify. “I remember now.” Wesley tilted his head up, spotting the stain easily.

“Heh.” 

Wesley didn’t say much else, not that that was unusual for him, but removed what looked like a backpack and set it on a nearby side table. It looked like he’d taken one of his fish on a walk. Bee guessed the contraption was something of Howell’s that had been repurposed to fit a fishbowl, rather than a cat. 

“Your pet is piloting this ship,” Wesley said. 

“He’s not a pet,” Bee said. “Don’t let him hear you say that. He gets embarrassed and weird about it…”

“You want to see Deckard, huh?” Wesley said. He pulled a packet of fish food out of his pocket and sprinkled it into the fishbowl with a flourish. 

_ So cool,  _ Bee thought.  _ Even when feeding fish.  _

“Huh?” Bee asked. “Oh. Yes. What’s he doing home anyway?” Wesley just shrugged lazily. Then he picked up the fishbowl and gave Bee a serious nod, before disappearing out of the giant hole where the door should have been. Bee probably should have asked him about that, but she figured she wasn’t bound to get a lot of answers from him. 

Bee looked at the floor and could make out the spot where she’d woken up. Her head had been resting on the pillow shaped like an eggplant she’d found in the garbage, way back when Puppycat magically dropped out of the sky. Some of her parts, little pieces and screws from her core, were laying in a pile, most likely collected with care by whoever carried her over. Wesley had been staring at her, but he didn’t look that surprised to see her internal makeup. Not like Crispin had been, once upon a time. She supposed, essentially, her secret was out. 

That was fine. But also terrifying. She felt exposed. And, looking down at her torso and the gaping hole that revealed all, she supposed that it was a very fair way to feel. 

A shy knock broke her from her thoughts. She looked up and saw Deckard, poking his head through the hole and giving Bee a little wave.

“H-hey,” he said. “How are you feeling?” Bee tried to ignore the hole in her chest, the hole in the wall, and the hole in her heart that she suddenly remembered, seeing Deckard again after missing him for so long. 

“Tired,” Bee said simply. 

“Bee,” Decked chuckled. “You’ve been sleeping for like a week.” He paused to rub the back of his neck. “Um… I think it was sleeping? We were all really worried, so we’ve been watching you in shifts. I had just finished mine, and Wesley was taking over for me, but he said you wanted to see me. So…” Deckard stopped to sigh, looking past Bee at the wall behind her. “I was really scared you were like… broken.”

“I am,” Bee said. She looked down at herself and tried her best to smile. “I’m… not supposed to have my guts all exposed like this.” It was more than a little humiliating, Bee decided. “And I think I would like the blanket back, please,” she said. 

“This one?” Deckard reached down for the pale pink blanket that had been draped over her. He carefully avoided stepping on the small pile of parts and laid the blanket on top of her, his cheeks reddening in the process. 

“What did I miss?” Bee asked. Her voice sounded small, even to her. Deckard startled a bit. He slowly sat down on the floor, looking up at Bee, seeming to consider a lot of things. Bee wished he would just speak his mind.

“A lot,” he said. “Uh… the island turned out to be a spah--a spaceship. And Puppycat has been piloting it somewhere, but none of us know where, really. It’s not like we can talk to him. So, we’re all just… sort of panicking?”

“Who is?” Bee asked. “Who’s still here?” 

“Uh… all my brothers. And Cass. This guy from cooking school who came back with me. The landlord and Cardamon, except they’re both sleeping as well? And Toast is still here. She had twins.”

“Twins?” Bee yelled. “What?”

“Yeah,” Deckard says, truly smiling for the first time since he sat down. “One boy and one girl. Butter and Beryl, uh, respectively.” 

“Babies!” Bee yelled. “Oh no no no…I need to get her a gift! I have to meet the babies!” Bee tried to stand up, but still found she couldn’t move her arms at all.  _ Not a start-up issue, then,  _ Bee thought.  _ Something definitely broke.  _

“Deckard,” Bee said. “I need you to find my birthday box. Please.”

“Right, okay,” Deckard stuttered out, standing up and looking determined. “Birthday box. Okay. What does it look like?”

“It’s by the window,” Bee said. “It has a sort-of crystal top. Do you see it?” Deckard retrieved the box and set it in front of Bee dutifully. 

“Is this it?” 

“Yeah,” Bee said. “Okay. Deckard, I need you to shove me in that hole.”

Deckard fumbled with the box, nearly dropping it. Bee didn’t think he was capable of blushing that much. 

“Wh-what?”

“I can’t really move too well right now…” Bee admitted. “But that box can fix me up if I have… damage. Or tears. So, I need you to shove me inside the hole in the box, please.” 

“Um…” Deckard looked at Bee, then down at the box. “I don’t think that’s going to work, Bee. You won’t fit.”

“I can totally fit,” Bee mumbled. 

“Bee, it’s okay,” Deckard said. “We can work with this… right? We’ll…we’ll find someone to fix you up. Do you… feel alright?”

“Yeah, I feel fine,” Bee said shortly. “But I have to do something about my… the guts.”

“I know,” Deckard said. “Just… don’t do anything reckless, okay. I uh… worry about you.” Bee nodded once, biting down on her lip. “Can I get you anything? I know you don’t have a kitchen, but I could make you something in our apartment and bring it back?”

“I’d like that,” Bee said. “I missed your cooking. And you’ve got to show me what you learned at Cooking School.” Deckard went quiet, shuffling his feet against the worn-down rug. 

“Right,” he said. “Um… I was just thinking I’d make you some box Mac-and-cheese? I know you like that a lot…”

“Yeah, I guess,” Bee said, deflating a little. “That’s fine.”

“Right,” Deckard said. “I-I’ll be right back.”

Deckard stood up and walked across the floor, disappearing through the hole that led outside without wasting any time. Bee was quick to come to the realization that she was stuck where she was, staring at the birthday box that Deckard refused to even try to shove her into. If only she could  _ move. _

Bee tried to move her left arm to ease herself off the couch. She couldn’t budge it. She couldn’t even twitch a finger. That was okay, she was equally capable with both hands. She tried her right arm and found that if she completely focused, she had some control over it. Using some of her stored up strength, Bee pushed herself off the couch, crashing unceremoniously to the floor. Only a little closer…

Bee grasped at the floor, feeling her fingers push crevices into the wood. She pulled herself across to where Deckard had carefully set down the box. She just had to try to squeeze herself in. It didn’t matter if it looked too small, it didn’t matter if she had to scrape off her skin and dismantle herself further just to be fixed. She…

She wanted to be fixed by her Dad. And that was the only thing he’d left her. Bee jammed her good arm in. The box sprung to life, the little arms emerging from their compartments, itching to put their programming into effect and get to work stitching Bee up. But the arm wasn’t enough. Bee tried to push her limb in further, but found that she couldn’t get it through. The hole had to be wider, she realized. She could stretch it open.

“Stupid…stupid box…”

She grunted and removed her arm, positioning the one she couldn’t move on one side of the whole, and her good arms on the other. Then she summoned her strength… and  _ pulled.  _ She could feel the metal crying, feel it straining to hold its form as it stretched and popped. 

_ Why did you leave me? Why didn’t you come back? You promised you’d come back. You promised… _

The box let out a loud  _ crunch  _ as Bee pulled it apart in one swift, terrible motion. The pieces went flying. One of them hit the wall and left a dent. Bee’s shoulders were shaking, and she felt like all her circuits, all her hardware was overloading at once. 

_ I can’t be fixed. And he’s not coming back for me.  _

“Bee!” 

There were arms around her. She distantly smelled hot food close-by. But mostly she smelled  _ Deckard  _ who had embraced her wholly and was breathing in tandem with Bee’s internal clock. 

“Are you crying?” Deckard asked quietly after a minute.

“I can’t,” Bee said plainly. She stared down at the pieces of the box, and distantly noticed crushed birthday candy among the parts. She looked past Deckard, but still held on tight. Outside, the stars shone brightly outside. Bee wondered how far away Earth was. She wondered if she even really wanted to go back. What was waiting there for her?

“Why does this make me feel so sad?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please leave a comment and let me know what you think! I'm guessing this fic will have around twenty chapters, and I have a good deal of it planned out. Still, feedback is what motivates me, so if you're so inclined, I'd love to hear what you think!


	2. Three Mouths

He leaned over Violet’s shoulder, straining to see. She’d beaten him back to the captain’s chair, again, which meant she got to drive the ship. That was the rule they’d agreed on when they were ten, a rule he himself had suggested, believing that one day, he’d be able to run faster than she could. But six cycles in space on their own had produced no results. In Violet’s eyes, he was the same slowpoke crybaby he’d been since they met in Class One. Which was both ridiculously unfair, and also _not true._

Yet, here he was, yet again, standing next to her as she piloted their home through a maze of asteroids to their destination. A sudden yank of the controls nearly knocked him off his feet. Violet let out a short laugh, an action that easily earned her a glare. 

“You… wanna be more careful?” he asked. He focused on keeping his voice steady. It had only recently dropped, and he had to do his best to keep remaining prepubescent cracks out of it, to avoid giving Violet any further teasing fodder than he already provided her on an hourly basis. 

“Nope!” Violet said. She pushed the acceleration down and the ship lurched as it sped up. 

“Hey!”

He grasped onto the captain’s chair with his hands, watching as Violet’s grin grew each time an asteroid nearly grazed the ship. 

“Where are we going in such a hurry anyway?” he yelled over the pandemonium. Violet turned to look at him over her shoulder, now steering blindly and one-handed. 

“I have to collect from that guy I did that job for,” Violet yells back. “It was while you had food poisoning because you decided to eat old sushi off the floor.” 

“You cannot prove that I did that.” 

“I watched you do it.”

“Yeah… uh… what was the job again?” he asked. The way she was talking, it sounded like she had taken up some shady line of work while he, the voice of the reason against all odds, was throwing up on the ship. 

“Mowing his stupid lawn,” Violet said. “And he skimped out on me! I was just counting my coins, and I’m short. It was an easy enough job, but it’s just as well that you were sick. You’re such a diva, you would have collapsed from having to push that mower around.”

“Hey!” he said. “Looks like these are wasted on manual labor. I was born beautiful. That’s not my fault.”

“I’m going to throw you out the emergency hatch.”

That was a threat she made often, but had only followed through on twice. 

“Ugh, anyway,” she said. “Once I get my money, I’m never mowing this guy’s lawn again.”

“Too hard for you?” he asked.

“Hardly!” she protested. “He just creeps me out! You remember that old hag who taught us way back when? His expression the whole time looked kind of like her when she used to scold us. You remember that? Two mouths and whispering voice and all that.”

“Three mouths,” he said.

“No, idiot, it was two,” Violet said, scowling.

“The third one’s her butt,” he said, feeling his face split into a grin. “Because she can eat shit.”

“Pfft,” Violet spit out. “That’s funny.” Violet busied herself with the controls once more, making a motion to bring up their coordinates on the ship’s holographic computer screen. 

“Ugh…” he said. He hated remembering that stupid school. Looking back on it, it was sick, labeling him as a delinquent in the making and shipping him off to an isolated “correctional facility”, back before he could even sing the alphabet backwards. Not that he could do that now. At least he’d never have to stand in the corner for not knowing something equally stupid anymore, now that he’d never be going back to school. How ironic that the best thing to come out of his time at that school was his very means of escape — his ship. 

“Violet…” he groaned. “Violet! Are we there yet?”

“No,” she said. “Maybe it’d go faster if someone didn’t crash it every other time he pilots.”

“Hey, most of those weren’t my fault.” 

Violet rolled her eyes and titled the controls forward, whipping the ship into a rapid descent. The nearest planet, a pyramid-shaped world covered in asphalt and little square buildings with stout arms and legs tending neat little lawns came into view. 

It wasn’t a planet he’d been on before. Violet mostly did whatever random odd jobs she could, since they both were just a bit too young to register for temp work. So, there was a lot of running juice stands, sign flipping, and lawn mowing. He leered down at the little houses padding across the street-covered planet with their little feet.

“Why did they want you to move their lawns?” he asked. “They look like they’re doing fine by themselves.” Indeed, it seemed most of the little houses were pushing mowers, fighting back the grass which seemed to be growing fast then they could cut it down. The remaining houses took to the weeds with hedge cutters. The ship lurched as Violet engaged the landing gear, and the sudden movement knocked him off his feet and onto the floor of the ship in a heap.

“Sorry,” Violet said offhandedly as she parked the ship.

“My ass…” he croaked out weakly.

“Right,” Violet said. “Time to get paid. Come on.” He rolled his eyes, but took the hand she had extended to him with a small smile. Despite everything, he knew he could always count on Violet. She hadn’t abandoned him so far, and she wasn’t the type to change her mind about anything once she set her mind to it. It made her hard to understand, but extraordinarily easy to understand at the same time. Taking one last look around the ship, he smoothed out his cape and followed Violet out onto the landing dock, his boots crushing the asphalt below with a satisfying crunch. He could see better now, and it was apparent that the grass was growing unnaturally quickly.

“Weird planet,” he commented under his breath. “I see why they needed the extra hands.”

“It wasn’t like this before,” Violet said, frowning thoughtfully. “Might have used too much of that Mega-Gro stuff.” 

“You did what?”

“Wanted to make sure I could work here again,” Violet said. “It’s called job security.”

“Gee,” he deadpanned. “You think this is why they didn’t pay you?”

“ _Yoooouuuu!_ ” 

A screechy, echoing voice rang out over the planet. He whipped his head around to see a spectacled house that came up to his knee pointing its arm at Violet, looking displeased. 

“You brat! What did you do to our beautiful grass? Our pride and joy? You have torn this Homeowner’s Association apart! You delinquent!”

“Hey!” Violet yelled. She marched up to the house and kicked it as hard as she could. It went flying up, up, up into the atmosphere, and didn’t come back down. Maybe it had gotten caught in orbit. “Oh,” Violet said after a minute. “That was the guy who was supposed to pay me.”

The houses were scrambling about around them the whole time, and when he looked down, he saw that the patch of street he had stepped onto was now a quickly growing patch of grass. 

“Are… we going to have to fix this?” he asked.

“Whatever,” Violet said. “Let’s just get out of here.” At once, a nearby house halted, letting go of its lawn mower and leaving it to drive off on its own, causing countless others to dive out of the way with high-pitched yelps. 

“You can’t leave!” the house snarled. “You have to speak to the president of the homeowner’s association!” At the drop of the title, several of the other houses let go of their tools, automatic lawn mowers shooting out of hands and colliding in small explosions of gasoline and metal scraps. Some of them pruned the grass for just a minute.

The houses assembled into neat little lines and began pushing him and Violet towards the only truly fixed building on the planet, that didn’t appear to be sentient. There wasn’t much point in resisting, so he let them push him, making no effort to take any steps on his own. He made sure to cast Violet plenty of dirty looks on the way. 

The door was thrust open, and he found himself ducking to fit under the slightly-too-low ceiling. Two chairs were positioned in front of an ornate desk in the middle of an office filled with metal scraps, tools, and what looked like bright-colored toys. The president of the Homeowner’s Association clearly wasn’t in yet. The only other person in the room was their baby, who was playing with the stapler on the desk, while sitting on the very front of the medium-sized leather chair.

“Hello,” the baby said suddenly.

Violet side-eyed him, conveying the question they were both silently screaming. How old was this baby to be talking that clearly? He didn’t even look a year old. 

“Uh…” he said. “Hi? Um. We’re here to speak to the president? The PRES. I. DENT—”

“That’s me!” he said, sitting up and beaming. Violet grinned madly, a spark of excitement in her eyes. He felt his own jaw hanging open dumbly. 

“You have to fix... f…fix the neighborhood,” the president asserted, furrowing what little brow he had. Shaking his head to gather himself, he eventually found words again. 

“Mmmm…yeah, no can do,” he said. “Violet and I aren’t the working type, and as we’re standing here, the grass is just going to keep growing outside.” The baby nodded and leaned forward on his desk, staring into him with the authority of a teacher thirty cycles his elder. 

“Then, what do we — do we — what do we do?” the president asked.

“You can learn to embrace the change and stop being a baby,” he said, crossing his arms. Despite the insult, (though, it could only be so much of an insult when it was such an objectively accurate description), the president considered.

“Embrace the change?”

“Sure!” Violet said, tapping in. “You’re never going to be happy living in the past. Your planet was road and lawns, now it’s going to be a grassland. That’s no one’s fault.”

“It’s your fault,” he said through his teeth.

“Blaming me won’t make you feel better,” Violet said cheekily. “Learn to love the new.”

“That’s stupid advice,” he mumbled to Violet.

“It’s _your_ advice.”

“… You’re right,” the baby said eventually. He hopped off the chair, disappearing from sight. After a few seconds where he could only be tracked by the pitter-patter of his feet on the floorboards, the baby re-emerged from behind the desk and climbed up on a step stool to look out the lone window of the building. Violet followed the gaze, so he did too. The grass was growing ever quicker, and the lack of tools keeping the vegetation back allowed the growth to increase exponentially. It wasn’t just grass anymore. There was budding vegetation, thin trunks of trees rising up from the ground like hibernating strangers reaching towards the light of the nearby stars. 

It was… sort of beautiful, the way the planet shifted and transformed. 

Then a tree sprouted up right through the middle of his ship.

“AHHHHGHHHHHH!!!!” he screamed. “VIOLET!” 

“I see it,” she said.

“This is your fault!” he said. He dove at her, knocking her to the floor and trying to get her in a headlock. She punched at his stomach, but he held his ground through the hollow pain.

“Oh, it’s my fault again?” she said. “What about that ‘change is good’ shit?”

“It’s bad when it happens to me!” he screamed. 

“Swearing!” the president protested. Violet stopped squirming, and he successfully pinned her. Once she wasn’t moving he stopped, turning to face the baby who had spoken again.

“We’re stuck here now,” Violet said blankly. 

“I will get your ship f-ph-fxed,” the president said. “You can stay with me tonight! It’ll be fun! We can talk about dep- diplomacy.”

“Right…” he said. “I don’t know that word.”

* * *

The president had let them stay in his office for the night, though he didn’t return as promised. He wondered if he should be concerned about that. The president was a baby, after all. But something told him that the kid could handle himself. He looked out the window at the trees that had sprouted up everywhere. The growth had finally slowed to a crawl, and he could see how houses scurrying up the trunks and settling in between branches. They looked content enough. That was nice. It meant they could probably leave without getting in too much trouble. They’d have to find new work, though. 

The only entertaining thing in the room was a small tan cat wearing a pajama onesie. It didn’t seem much for conversation. It just stared at him blankly. He decided quietly to himself that he didn’t like cats. Too judgemental. 

He looked over at Violet, who was paging through a book, seemingly not registering the words at all. She had to be really bored if she had resorted to reading. It clearly wasn’t interesting to her though, as she looked minutes away from ripping out the pages. Even the way she gripped the corners of the thin paper was like a tiny death grip. 

“This planet sucks,” she said.

“You got us stuck here.”

“I know,” Violet huffed. She threw the book carelessly to the floor and crossed her arms, heaving out a long, sustained breath. She mumbled something he couldn’t quite make out.

“What was that?”

“...I’m sorry,” she said. “Don’t you dare make me say it again.” 

“I won’t!” he insisted. Privately, he smiled to himself. _Finally, I’m not the clown between us. She is never living this one down._

At that moment, the door to the President’s office swung open, and there was the kid himself, smiling with all his baby teeth and holding a toy hammer. 

“I…..ff-f-f-fixed it,” the baby said. He then proceeded to spit, seemingly very interested in the noises he could make with his tongue. 

“Fixed what?”

“Your ship, mister!” the baby said. 

“Aha!” he yelled at Violet, jumping to his feet. “You hear that? It’s _my_ ship!”

“Show us!” Violet said. “And it’s my ship.”

“No, it’s--” he stopped mid-sentence, noticing that the baby and Violet were already out the door. He sighed in defeat and followed. 

Parked outside the door of the building was the ship, in all the glory it had had when he’d first discovered it. No wear and tear from crashes, no scratches even. No tree through the center of it. Had the kid really done all that?

“Holy shit! You really fixed it up! You got a name?” Violet asked. The baby looked up at her with wide, bright eyes, tilting his head to the side. 

“Atticus,” he said. “I had to go to the records planet and get…g-gget my birth certif. Certificate. To find out.” Atticus busied himself quickly by playing with his toes. 

“Huh,” Violet said. She had that look spreading across her lips — the look of a plan that would end badly for both of them. He knew better than to try to stop it at this point. “So, you got parents? Or anyone who would look for you if you disappeared?”

“No,” Atticus said nonchalantly. “I am independent.”

“Awesome!” Violet said. She was practically vibrating. He raised an incredulous eyebrow, wondering if she was really doing what he thought she was doing. He pulled her briefly to the side-eyeing the kid for a second before turning away.

“We are not adding a baby to the crew,” he said blankly.

“Why not?” Violet said. “I think it’d be good for you. Growing babies need companionship from other babies, didn’t ya know?” He mumbled a few choice words under his breath, looking down to see the small cat from inside butting his leg with its head. 

“Checkers, no!” Atticus said. He struggled to stand, tumbling down on some of his first attempts. He eventually got his balance and hobbled over to grab the small cat. “Mmm if I go with you, can he come too?” Atticus held the cat up in their faces. Violet nodded enthusiastically, while he simply pushed the cat away gently. 

“Checkers, was it?” he asked the cat sarcastically. “Are you good for anything except puking all over the ship?” The cat’s expression didn’t change, but it somehow looked like it was glaring at him. “Yeah, you little fucking baby. You’re not coming with us, and neither is your cat.”

“Oh…” Atticus said. For the first time since meeting him, Atticus looked completely his age, on the edge of tears. “I’m s-s-sorry… did I do a bad job!”

“No no no!” he said. “Shit -- I mean...shoot? You did fine. Just, don’t bring the cat. He’ll be fine, right?” He looked over at Violet for backup, and instead found himself in the range of a death glare.

“How dare you,” Violet said coldly. She stepped forward and picked up Atticus in her arms in one sweeping motion, Checkers the cat nuzzling her leg and purring. “And after Atticus fixed up our ship. You have an obligation to repay him.”

“Oh, it’s _our_ ship now, huh?”

“They’re coming with us. End of story.”

“But--”

“Hooray!” Atticus said. He broke into a giggle, nuzzling into Violet’s shoulder. 

“You’re too young to be a mom,” he muttered under his breath, so only Violet could hear.

“I’m not a mom,” she said pointedly. “We are just stealing a baby.” He let out a long groan, knowing there was no way Violet was going to change her mind. 

“Hag,” he said.

“Idiot.”

“Buttface.”

“Man, it’s a good thing I got us stranded,” Violet said with a shit-eating grin. “You’re welcome.” He rolled his eyes pointedly.

“Yeah. Good for you.”

“Good for us, you mean,” Violet said. “Come on, or we’ll leave without you.” Part of him wanted to stay, just so she’d know that she wasn’t the boss of him. But there was only so much to do on the House Planet -- or rather, the Treehouse Planet. Without a word, he did his best to keep a blank expression and walked up the entrance ramp to the ship. The door closed behind him, a little sound indicating the pressure lock. The sound was clearer, and the locking process happened on the first try, which it hadn’t done since four crashes ago. Maybe that baby was going to be helpful after all.

“I’m gonna get us into orbit,” Violet remarked from where she was already perched on the captain’s chair. “Help Atticus get settled, kay?”

“I’m not a babysitter…” he grumbled. He had little choice but to comply. It wasn’t like he could avoid either of them in a one-room ship. Atticus was sitting on the floor, looking at a wall of the ship thoughtfully. 

“Heya,” he said awkwardly. Atticus turned toward him and blinked owlishly. He looked to be deep in thought -- maybe that was why he wasn’t up for conversation. 

“Do you know where babies come from?” Atticus asked suddenly. 

_Stars above,_ he thought. _Violet sure knows how to pick them. Them being people hand-picked to torment me._

“Of course!” he said. He winced internally at the way his voice cracked, revealing a bit of his panic. He let his gaze flicker over to Violet to see if she was listening in. She had headphones on, and her face had a distinct lack of a smug look on it. “They… uh,” he stammered. “They are… well… they are built. It’s really complex and you need a lot of uh… parts. And uh… energ-ee. Ener…”

“Energy,” Atticus repeated studiously. “Hm. Okay! Have you seen Checkers?” He felt his shoulders relax, grateful for an easier question. 

“Violet has him, I think,” he said. “Hey, you’re gonna feed the cat, right?” Atticus nodded solemnly. That was a relief. He didn’t like the way that cat stared into him. 

“Oh!” Atticus said as he stood up. “I didn’t catch your name. What is it? I heard Violet call you “Idiot”. Is that your name?”

“No!” he protested. 

“Oh, okay!” Atticus said. “What is it then?” He could feel a headache coming on. He didn’t care how smart this kid was, he was still going to be a pain in the ass.

“Go bother Violet,” he said. “And my name is

...

...

...Ḍ̷̞̽̈́e̵͙͓̿͠l̴͙̞̿̊ẉ̷̼y̵̛̛̞̣n̸͙̳̓̂.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> please comment!


	3. Why Won't You Answer?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lol is anyone even reading this? whatev dsakjfbdsakjfbs shoutout to this story's two fans yall are real ones

Staying on the floor wasn’t an option. She didn’t care that she was risking breaking further or that Deckard had to support some of her weight so she could stumble around, only half in control of her limbs. She was going to find Puppycat and get some answers. And visit the Wizards and the new twin babies. She hadn’t quite decided on the order of importance. 

Deckard walked her out the hole in her wall and down the stairs. Bee looked up and stared in wonder at the fishbowl-like structure above, shielding them from an expansive void of stars and empty space. It was an inky black. The streets were lit up from the lights in the spaceship’s interior below, giving the earth a soft glow. A few lone streetlights were lit, pricking through the sheet of darkness. It looked almost like a few small stars had snuck their way in through the glass and were lingering around to provide them light. Deckard didn’t comment on the appearance of what was once their island, and Bee wondered again just what she had missed when she was powered off. Deckard had said it had been about a week, which didn’t seem long enough for someone to grow accustomed to such a large change. 

Which meant he was probably just trying to hold it together, tying down his panic with his usual quiet optimism. Bee silently appreciated that. She was in no position to calm anybody down. 

“Do you mind if we stop at home? Er-- our apartment? You’re kind of heavy.”

“Ah,” Bee said. “Sorry.”

Deckard shot her a thin smile and immediately directed his gaze forward again, bringing the both of them around to the door of 101, which consisted of almost the entire first floor of their building. 

“It’s gonna be nice seeing you all at once again,” Bee remarked as Deckard fumbled with the door handle. “Why are you back so soon from cooking school anyway?” 

Deckard fumbled, choking on his words and freezing up. She could distantly hear his heart beginning to tick faster. 

“It uh… felt right, I guess,” Deckard said. 

He pushed open the door and hurriedly ushered Bee inside. Cass was sitting in a kitchen chair behind Howell, braiding his hair while he complained about something Bee couldn’t decipher in the madness. Merlin was feeding one of the twins, who was seated on the counter. Toast was watching a (presumably recorded) WWE match and explaining it loudly to the other twin, who was sitting at her chest in a baby carrier. Tim, as usual, was lingering in the back, notebook in hand. 

The din of the household calmed for just a moment as they stepped in, then quickly fell into absolute silence, save for the WWE match continuing on the television. 

“Can someone get a char -- chair for Bee?” Deckard asked. Merlin dutifully picked up the baby and dragged over the kitchen chair Howell had his feet propped up on for Bee to collapse into. She sighed as she settled into the chair, all too aware that all the eyes in the room were on her. She glanced down at the hole in her chest and saw that another wire had come loose in the walk over and was sparking slightly.

“Ah!” Bee said, crossing her arms quickly to cover up. “Stop staring!” 

Everyone in the house quickly rectified the situation by averting their gazes to the walls, looking everywhere but her. Deckard included. It was decidedly not better.

“You can stare a normal amount,” Bee grumbled. Really, she should have changed before coming over into a shirt that didn’t have a hole in it that would expose all her guts. But she hadn’t thought of that and didn’t want to make Deckard lead her around the building and up the stairs again. 

“Where are Wesley and Crispin?” Deckard asked. “And uh… Cooking Prince?”

“I dunno,” Cass said shortly. She still wasn’t looking at Bee, even though everyone else was doing their best to. 

“ _Wesley_ took my best cat carrier to walk his _fish_ ,” Howell said haughtily. That’s not what it’s for! He’s going to stretch it out!” Cass dropped the half-formed braid and got up, heading towards the kitchen and rifling around in the fridge. As she passed, Merlin lifted up the baby in his arms with a grin.

“Beryl! Say hi to Auntie Cass!” 

Merlin took Beryl’s little hand and waved it. Cass groaned in annoyance, then took a swig of her newly-acquired energy drink and sat back down.

“He needs time to calm down the fish,” Merlin said. “It must make them nervous not being around water anymore…”

“Oh…” Howell said, wilting immediately. “They’re so far from home… how could I be so insensitive towards kindred spirits?”

“Whose idea was it to leave anyway?” Bee piped up. “Where are we going?”

“I think it was Cardamon’s mom?” Deckard said. He rubbed the back of his head, and Bee could still make out the scar from the wound he’d sustained on the baking planet. That day that everything had gone wrong and she thought Deckard had run away forever. 

“Cardamon’s mom?” Bee asked. “The landlord? Oh no… is she up from her coma? Do you think she’s going to notice that I was shortchanging Cardamon before he learned addition in school?”

“She’s asleep again, though,” Howell interjected. “It’s a shame, really. I didn’t get a chance to ask what shampoo she uses. I mean, the woman spends the better part of a year in a coma, and her hair’s flawless! But no, she just went back under and took her kid with.”

“I...I don’t understand,” Bee said. _Cardamon? Put under as well?_ Bee had to see it for herself. She didn’t want to see it at the same time. 

“They’re fine,” Merlin said, now bouncing Beryl on his legs, much to her delight. “I check on them every so often, and they’re both stable. But it’s some weird machine that’s keeping them under, so I’m not sure what to do.”

“Hmph,” Toast huffed from her spot on the couch in front of the TV. “And here I thought I was intimate with only the most powerful doctor in the world.”

“I don’t know about that,” Merlin said with a nervous grin. “But I’m the best dad in the world!” Beryl giggled in delight. Cass slammed her head on a table. Bee frowned when she realized Cass still hadn’t addressed her or looked at her since she’d entered. 

“Maybe I can ask Puppycat to bring us back,” Bee said. “Deckard and his friend, who I haven’t met but I’m sure is nice, need to get back to cooking school, probably. And all of you have jobs, right? And… I just miss the sound of the waves. Think of all Wesley’s poor fish…”

“Hey Bee,” Tim said. Bee’s eyebrow shot up to her hairline. It was unlike Tim to pipe up like that. He clicked his pen a few times before continuing. “I guess all your stuff got left in the ocean. What kind of stuff was it?” 

Bee went stiff in her chair, and for the first time since she entered, Bee saw Cass’s eyes flicker over to her for just a second. Bee held down a shudder and tried to bury the memory. She packed everything, most of it her dad’s tech that had uses she couldn’t comprehend. Tore open the ground to find an escape pod. It was just like her dad had said, the ship was there, and maybe he’d taken off in one of these all those years ago. She’d only reached a few thousand feet when she was blinded by her own tears and crash-landed back to earth.

She sat at the bottom of the ocean for a while. Longer than was safe, and she paid the price by having to do routine repairs for two months afterward. That was before Puppycat, before she’d truly traveled through space at all. 

“Bee?” 

Deckard’s voice broke her out of the memory. Her gaze settled on her chest, which was flaring up with cyan light. 

_Too much sadness. And everyone could see. How embarrassing._

“Do y’want me to get you a shirt?” Deckard said. 

Bee nodded and collapsed in on herself further.

“Just some stuff,” she said, answering Tim’s question only by technicality. “I got some of it out before we left though. That’s not why I wanna go back.”

“None of us want to be your little monster pet’s hostages,” Howell said pointedly. “But it’s not like we can reason with him.”

“Sure you can!” Bee insisted. “Er...well, you can try. I can try.”

“You talk to him a lot,” Deckard remarked. “Can you actually understand his little nos--noises? Those little chirps?”

“Yeah,” Bee said with a shrug. “It’s settled then. If you show me where he is, I’ll talk some sense into him.”

“Rah-Roger that,” Deckard said, giving an awkward salute. “I’ll, uh, go find you a shirt.” Deckard shuffled past the family members gathered in the living room and disappeared into his room in the hallway. 

“VICTORY!” Toast yelled. She stood up from the couch, punching her fists in the air as the match on the TV ended. Bee could now see that she was in a lavender dress with polka-dots, something that looked like it was made for maternity. She also had a baby, Butter, presumably, in a baby carrier sitting at her stomach. 

“Oh, you’re done, are you?” Cass said, nursing her energy drink. 

“Now that Butter’s daily education is over,” Toast said. “I have to make an announcement!” 

“But Deckard just left,” Howell said. 

“This is a more than sufficient crowd!” Toast declared. She slammed her fist into her open palm and grinned devilishly. Bee could’ve sworn Butter mimicked the action with his small, round hands. 

“So cute…” Bee muttered to herself.

“Merlin Wizard! I have decided to bestow upon you the honor of being married to the most powerful champion in the world! Should you choose to accept of course.” Toast then pulled a ring out of the pocket of her dress and stumbled, trying to kneel down, but struggling to keep Butter steady. 

“Castaspella!” Toast yelled. “Are you doing to stand by and watch a radiant mother of two struggle to get to the ground?” Bee saw Cass roll her eyes obviously as Toast thrust the ring into her face.

“I’m not proposing to my brother for you,” Cass said. “Hey!” In a swift motion, Cass snatched the ring, bringing it close to her face to inspect it. “Is this part of my lamp? Did you break it on purpose?”

“It is and I did!” Toast said. “I bent this metal, decorative accent into a ring with my bare hands!”

“Woah,” Merlin said. “Yes. Yes, I accept.”

“Yes! Yes, I _will_ be your wedding planner!” Howell exclaimed. He looked like he was already getting teary-eyed. 

“How will we get married in space?” Merlin asked.

“I’m ordained,” Tim said. 

“Since when?” asked Howell. Tim only shrugged. 

The room quickly erupted into chaos. One of the babies started crying, and all the noise at once was just a bit too much for Bee’s system. She didn’t have the capacity to process this much noise when her sadness was this high. She quietly stumbled up out the chair and hobbled down the hall, taking each step carefully so she didn’t fall over. When she got to Deckard’s door, she knocked.

“O-oh! Come in.”

Bee pushed open the door and took in the bare walls and spare furnishings. Deckard’s room had always been so cluttered and beautiful, ever since she could remember, and it was unsettling to see it in its half-packed away state. There were some boxes by the door, and if Bee was able, she would have marched over and started unpacking, just to get a small bit of normalcy again. 

Deckard was sitting with a shirt in his hands, facing the closet.

“Sorry,” he said. “This is for you.” Deckard passed her a large dark blue t-shirt with multicolored fluffy clouds on it. She accepted the shirt and looked it over. The shirt was new-ish, she was pretty sure. “I got it while I was at school. The shirt, I mean. It reminded me of home.”

“There’s sky in the city too,” Bee remarked, turning around and attempting to strip her ripped sweater. She’d forgotten she didn’t have the use of one of her arms.

“Not like here,” Deckard said. “I mean. When we were on earth.” Bee turned back around to ask for help just in time to catch Deckard’s blush. 

“I need some help,” Bee said. “My arm--”

“Right. Right.” Deckard stepped forward awkwardly and grasped the bottom of Bee’s sweater in his fingers. He was looking at the ceiling.

“Deckard,” Bee said. “You won’t be able to be careful that way.”

“I know!” Deckard said too quickly. “Right. I...right.” 

Deckard worked the garment off carefully, his gaze fixed on her the whole time. But it didn’t feel invasive. It just felt like she was being seen, which was still terrifying, in a way, but there was a sort of thrill about it. When Deckard coaxed the shirt over her head, it was like her feet found the ground again, and she couldn’t help but exhale in tandem with him as he finished fishing her arm through the sleeve. 

“Thank you,” Bee said after a minute to break the silence. “This is a lot better.” She looked down at her chest and noted that she could no longer see blue light peeking through, but she also knew it wasn’t the shirt that did that. 

“Why did you come back early?” Bee asked. “I thought you were just visiting but… all your stuff is here.”

Deckard bit his lip.

“I told you. It felt right.”

“I don’t know what that means.”

She held their gaze for a while. Then, raising the metaphorical white flag, she sighed and turned around. 

“We should go find Puppycat.”

* * *

The hatch down wasn’t that far of a walk, and it was propped open when they got there. It was dark when they’d walked away from the house, but the lights from the interior of the ship shined through the trapdoor and beckoned her forward. Deckard had been silent since they’d left the house, which had become a chaotic half wrestling pile, half wedding-brainstorming session. But he was still dutifully supporting her weight, helping her down the steps. 

It wasn’t long before they were in the ship proper. Bee’s eyes scanned over the escape pods, noting the two that were missing. One she’d crash landed about two years ago. One that hadn’t been seen for twelve years. Bee jerked her head elsewhere. 

She noticed the garish captain’s chair across the room, and after a few seconds, saw a little with fur-covered paw reach to the armrest and press a few buttons. It was Puppycat. 

“Pup-”

“Hey.”

Bee cut herself off and looked toward the source of the voice in bewilderment. Crispin was sitting, pouting as he normally did, glaring at the chair Puppycat was in. 

“Oh. Hey…” Deckard said. “We were wondering where you went.”

“Bee, that thing won’t let me try the controls.”

“Is that what you’re down here for?” Bee asked. “Good luck with that. Puppycat is pretty bossy when it comes to couch space.”

“Can’t you just move him?” Deckard asked. “He’s pretty small.”

“Hey, I’m not gonna beat up a cat...thing,” Crispin said. “Is he a cat? What the hell is he anyway?”

“Oh, I don’t know that,” Bee said with a laugh. “But I’ll put in a good word for you. Maybe he’ll let you drive us back. Put on a layer of clown paint.”

“ _Thank you!_ ” Crispin said, getting riled up. “Is that too much to ask?” 

Bee let go of Deckard and started to walk over to the captain’s chair since it was clear Puppycat wasn’t going to come to her. 

“Heya,” she said. “I’m awake now. Did you miss me?”

Puppycat adjusted a lever, turning his head to look at Bee up and down. He moved his paws up in an approximation of a shrug. Bee did her best to hold back a squeal of delight. It was always so cute when Puppycat did people things. 

“So, me and the others were hoping you could maybe put the island back? Where are we headed anyway?”

_“I’m the captain. I say when we land my ship.”_

“Oh, so it’s _your_ ship, is it?” Bee asked sarcastically. 

Puppycat stared at her. 

_“It is now.”_

“Yeah, real mature,” Bee said. “I’m serious. Where are you piloting us? Why leave Earth at all?” Puppycat turned forward again, making more adjustments by pressing buttons and pulling up a sort-of navigation screen. Bee couldn’t get a really good look at it, not when she was this annoyed and distracted, but she recognized the design as her dad’s. But how had Puppycat learned to operate it so easily when she couldn’t figure it out herself? It was made by the same stuff as she was -- she should have been able to do it. 

“Is this because you don’t want to give up the chair and you just got bored?” Bee joked. Puppycat didn’t move. His expression remained the same distant frown that it always was.

“That’s a joke y’know,” Bee mumbled. “You can laugh.” Puppycat continued staring forward, not making a sound. 

“ _Can_ he laugh?” Deckard asked from behind. “I thought he just chirped.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever heard him laugh,” Bee mused. “You,” she addressed Puppycat, “are no fun. And you need to tell me what your plan is here because you’ve brought all of us with you.” Puppycat pressed a button with his paw and leered at the expanse of space behind the window in front of him.

_“I hate the sound of laughter.”_

“Puppycat!” Bee said, appalled. “That’s awful. And stop avoiding the question. Why are we in space? Where are we going?”

Puppycat was still and silent.

“Puppycat.” Bee could feel her anger beginning to flare up.

Bee heard someone from behind, either Crispin or Deckard, let out a small concerned noise. 

“Puppycat!” Bee said sharply. “Why won’t you answer?”

_“Trust me.”_

“How can I trust you?” Bee asked. “You won’t tell me anything! And Crispin might not want to fight a small adorable creature, but _I_ know your punches are weak and we need to get home!”

“Bee,” Deckard said from behind. “It’s fine--”

“No, it’s not!” Bee snapped. “Now, where are we going?” Puppycat finally turned his head to face Bee, his frown never wavering. 

_“We need to find your Dad.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> comment if you want! maybe then i wont take a MONTH next time whoops dskajfb


	4. Team Puppycat

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Art in this chapter is by Luminyan. Check them out on tumblr at https://emberchii.tumblr.com/

He opened his eyes just in time to see the business end of a toy hammer heading straight for his forehead.

_Bonk._

“Ow!” he yelled, sitting upright in bed. Atticus flopped over onto his back with the motion. His little feet stuck in the air. If Violet had also snuck into his quarters to annoy him, she probably would have commented on how cute Atticus was. He, however, just scowled at the toddler and turned over in bed, grumbling and holding his pillow over his head to prevent any further assault via toy hammer. 

“You halfta get up!” Atticus squeaked from somewhere beyond the small space of peace the pillow provided. 

“Whyyyyy?” he droned out.

“The captain has called a meeting. It’s an emer. Emer. Emer-gen-cy!”

He felt around with his hand blindly for the hammer, refusing to remove the pillow from his head. He’d get his revenge on that stupid kid for disrupting his treasured naptime at any cost… as long as he didn’t have to get up for it.

“A captain goes down with his ship,” he mumbled from his safe haven under the pillow. “I don’t care what it is, I’m not getting up.”

“Violet said she was the captain.”

“Well, Violet is full of shit.”

“Mmmmmswearing,” the toddler mumbled disapprovingly.

_Bonk._

“Ow!”

He fully sat up, the momentum of his quick movement nearly knocking Atticus entirely off the bed. 

“Will you promise to never hit me with the hammer again if I get up now for the stupid meeting?” he yelled. Too loud for so early. This kid was going to kill him.

“Yes.”

He looked through his snow-white bangs at the small boy in footie pajamas giving him the brightest smile he’d ever seen on a creature. He groaned.

“Fine. But I’m going to complain the whole time.”

He dragged himself out of bed, blinking hard in the mirror and making half-hearted attempts to fix his hair and straighten his antenna. It did very little good. He was far too tired to keep up any sort of appearance. He supposed it didn’t matter much, really, since he was planning on collapsing back into bed when the “meeting” was over.

When he’d given up, he saw that Atticus was waiting for him, poking his fingers at the wall and making popping noises with his mouth. That probably meant he wanted to remodel again. It was annoying that he constantly insisted on upgrading the ship, but it had given them all their own rooms, which no one was about to complain about. 

Atticus held up a little hand to him expectantly as he approached, which he, of course, declined to take. The kid could walk to the control room perfectly fine. Atticus didn’t seem at all dissuaded though, and followed close behind, picking up Checkers the cat from the floor on their walk. When they got to the main room, Violet was already there, her back to them.

“Morning, starshine,” she said, voice dripping with sarcasm. “Enough beauty sleep for you?”

“You need to brew coffee if you’re going to insist I get up this early in the morning,” he said, still making a fruitless effort to pat down his bedhead. “Also, since when are you ‘The Captain’?” Violet turned on her heels to face him, and he noticed she was holding a small golden puppy in her arms. 

“Hey, stupid,” Violet said in a gruff voice, moving the puppy up in down as if it was talking. “Don’t disrespect the Captain by questioning her authority or title. Bark bark bark.”

“Where did you find the dog?” he asked blankly.

“On my dog-walking job,” Violet said. “Guy paid badly. So I took a tip. Her name’s Sticky.”

“Wonderful.”

“Oh!” Atticus dropped Checkers and ran up to the dog, completely entranced. Then Atticus turned to look at him. 

“Can we keep her?”

“Yeah!”

“NO!”

“Why not?” Violet challenged. “Why can’t we keep the puppy?” Not waiting for a response, Violet crouched down and addressed Atticus conspiratorially. “It’s because he hates fun.”

“I don’t hate fun!” he protested. “I have fun all the time." 

“Then, can we keep her?” Atticus piped up. “Please?”

“Of course we can!” Violet said. Her voice was saccharine. He could feel her smug grin even though she wasn’t looking at him. 

“Is that what I got up for? This was an ‘emergency’?”

“Course it was,” Violet said. She sat down in the captain’s chair and spun it to face him with flair. “You like my prank? See, Atticus, this is what I meant when I said Ḍ̷̞̽̈́e̵͙͓̿͠l̴͙̞̿̊ẉ̷̼y̵̛̛̞̣n̸͙̳̓̂ can’t take a joke.”

“Not when they’re at my expense!” he screeched, his voice cracking. “And they’re always at my expense!”

“Oh. I shouldn’t have called this an emergency,” Atticus said. “I thought this meeting was about a more pressing issue.”

“What issue?” he asked, turning his attention away from Violet, who was now doubling over with laughter. 

“We’ve run out of food money,” Atticus said. “Doing random chores is an inefficient way of supporting three...no, four with Checkers. Five with the puppy. Five hungry mouths to feed. I think you two, as the adults, should seek some form of employment.”

“Why us?” he whined. “You’ve already been the mayor of-sorts of a planet. And you know a loooot about building things. I don’t even have a resume.” 

Atticus blinked at him. 

“I’m just a kid,” he said. 

“Well, there’s always temp work, I guess,” he said. “At least that’s reliable.”

“No need to turn to that boring shit,” Violet said, her eyes lighting up. “We should form a candy-hunting team!”

“...you’re joking, right?”

“What?” Violet protested. “All our teachers always said you’d be great at it.” 

He felt his face flush against his will, his antenna dropping slightly as he huffed out a breath. It wasn’t that he regretted running away and dropping out of school but… part of him hated that that’s what all the authority figures in his life always expected him to do. And if he became a candy hunter, he’d be proving them all right.

“Candy hunting’s illegal,” he said. “And dangerous.”

“No, it’s not illegal, technically,” Violet said. “At least, not anymore, I don’t think. The Space King’s not having any candy hunters prosecuted anymore.”

“Why’s that?” he asked.

“You think I know or care? I can only assume they found some use for the candy. Not that there’s gonna tell us peasants what it’s for or anything. But we can make a buck doing it; that’s all I know.”

“You’re going to get candy for a job?” Atticus asked. 

“Not the kind you eat,” Violet said, leaning down to boop Atticus’ nose. “It’s a resource found in the cores of planets. No one knows what it does, but you can make a lot of money if you collect it. And now, thanks to you ya little monster, we have a good enough ship to stand a chance on the leaderboards.”

“Leaderboards?” Atticus asked. He leaned forward a bit and picked up his toy hammer, resting his chin on it. He was clearly intrigued. 

“You only get paid if you collect a certain amount of candy quickly enough,” he said. “That’s why it’s a bad idea. Candy hunters play dirty to eliminate weaker teams that join to stay on top, because the more you collect, the more ‘prizes’ you get. Money and equipment and stuff.”

“So, that’s why it’s dangerous,” Atticus reasoned. “We wis--risk getting hurt before we get started or not making back our food and fuel money if we aren’t fast enough.”

“We’ll be fine,” Violet said, her eyes bright. “I just want a job where we have to blow space junk up! And I want the prizes! Prizes, Ḍ̷̞̽̈́e̵͙͓̿͠l̴͙̞̿̊ẉ̷̼y̵̛̛̞̣n̸͙̳̓̂. Prizes.”

“...fine,” he said. “Fine. Whatever.”

“Alright,” Violet said, pulling up the navigation screen and directing it through the proper links to get to the team application form. “I’m going to sign us up. Shouldn’t take too long -- we just need a team name.”

“Team Puppy!” Atticus said, picking Sticky up off the ground and lifting her in the air enthusiastically. Sticky made a noise like a high-pitched squeak. 

“Hard pass,” he said.

“You’re right,” Atticus said. “That’s not fair to Checkers. Team Puppycat!”

“Yeah!” Violet said.

“Yay!” Atticus said.

“I’m going to throw your clothes in with the dishes tonight, Violet,” he grumbled.

“Don’t care as long as they get washed,” Violet said, her eyes bright as she typed away. “Puppycat on three! One...two…”

He was already out the door by the time he could hear them chanting that ridiculous name. 

…

Atticus had spent the whole day drawing up blueprints for laser cannons with his packs of crayons. A small, quiet part of his brain told him he might want to be concerned about that, but he also doubted it was the first time Atticus had dealt with something far too dangerous for a baby, or anyone for a matter of fact, and hell, he was still alive. 

When he stopped by to give the baby his dinner, (applesauce, as usual, due to his lack of adult teeth), Atticus was surrounded by paper, staring intently down at his empty crayon-covered workbench. The baby turned quickly when he heard footsteps, face inexplicably breaking into a smile upon seeing him. 

“Hello, idiot!” Atticus said.

“For the last time, kid, that’s not my name,” he said.

“I know,” Atticus said. “Violet said it was funny. I don really get it but...I trust her.”

“Not funny,” he corrected pointedly. “Not funny at all.”

“Oh,” Atticus said, smile dropping. “M’sorry.”

“I brought you food. So… yeah. I’ll leave you be.” He set the container of applesauce and a spoon next to the small boy, and after Atticus made no move to take it, awkwardly stood there for a few seconds before deciding to make a hasty retreat by walking backward out of the room. 

“Are you and Violet going to leave like my parents did?” Atticus asked suddenly. He looked down at the small boy in shock, pausing in the middle of his first step backwards. Atticus kept staring down at the table, clutching Checkers close in his lap like the cat was a stuffed animal. 

“I don’t know why you’re asking me that,” he said honestly. 

“Well, you’re kinda like my family now,” Atticus says. “Aren’t you?”

“That’s stupid,” he said. 

Atticus sniffed, clutching Checkers impossibly tighter. The cat glared into him like it was somehow his fault. 

“Oh,” Atticus said. 

“No, I mean…” he sighed and rubbed at his eyes in frustration. “We won’t leave you behind to fend for yourself. But you don’t need to call us...that word.”

“A family?”

“...yes. That word. Congrats on remembering it.”

“But why not?”

“Because we’re not much of a family, I guess,” he said. “That’s all. But I’m guessing you’re gonna grow up pretty quick. Maybe you can stay with us for a bit, and then go find some family on your own. But me? I don’t need that kind of pressure.”

“Where’s your family, then?” Atticus asked.

“Don’t have one anymore,” he answered. “And I don’t need one.”

“Oh,” Atticus said. “Okay. Sorry for asking.” He picked up a crayon with his chubby hand and stared down at the design in front of him. Then he set it down and picked up the paper, crumpling it as much as he could with his tiny hands, and threw the paper under the table, another on a large stack about as tall as the table Atticus sat at.

“You having trouble?” he asked.

“No,” Atticus answered too quickly. “I’m bouta get it.”

“Yeah, it’s a weapon,” he said blankly. “You’ll want to take your time so you don’t hurt yourself.”

“But I have to do a good job,” Atticus insisted.

“Sure do,” he said. “Good luck with that.”

Then, not waiting this time to find out if it was a good time to leave the conversation, he turned tail and ran out of the room. 

…

“Congrats, asshole. You made a baby cry.”

He turned around and saw Violet standing in his door, fuming.

“What is it with you guys coming into my room?” he said haughtily. “Did I mistakenly weave a welcome mat in the middle of the night?”

“You made a baby cry!” Violet repeated, louder.

“In my defense, that’s not hard to do. It’s like breathing for them. Why is it my fault that he’s crying?” he asked.

“He told me that you told him that we’re not a family,” Violet said.

“We’re not.”

“He’s _one cycle old._ ”

“I fail to see how that’s my problem.”

“Yeah, well, clearly you need to hear this out loud, so here it is,” Violet said. In a quick motion, she grabbed him by the collar of his uniform and brought him close to her face. 

“Violet!”

“Shh! Stop talking. Time to listen. Gotta get some words through the thick planetary crust of your brain, so brace yourself for impact. Atticus and I aren’t going anywhere. We’re here to stay, as are Sticky and Checkers, and anyone else we pick up to help us candy hunt. You’ve gotta get on board with that.”

“Why?” he said, narrowing his eyes.

“Because I said so, and I’m smart,” Violet said. “I mean, look how much our quality of life has improved with Atticus alone. So, I don’t get why you’re so intent on not getting close to him. Because he’s a part of your life now, _Captain._ Why not be mature and accept the change?”

He scowled at her intonation. 

“Don’t _Captain_ me,” he said.

“Aw, and here I thought you were butthurt that it wasn’t your title,” Violet said with a grin.

“Shut up,” he said. Violet’s grin softened into a smile as she let his shirt go and walked to the window, staring out at the expanse of stars. After a second, he brushed himself off and joined her at the window, looking out at the infinite horizon.

“I think I like change,” Violet said. “That’s why when you said you wanted to leave and not come back, I didn’t think twice. I don’t really regret it ever, because I think our life is pretty good, y’know?”

He hummed noncommittally in response.

“And since this big change worked out, I’ve decided to just do what I think is best and never have any regrets. I know that’s not how you work, though. That’s okay too.”

“You weren’t saying that a minute ago,” he said, side-eyeing her.

“No, I said you need to accept the change that’s already happened. I was never gonna give you a choice about the dog because I don’t really give a damn what you think, but I mean, none of us can ever be ready for everything. We get served a lot of stuff that we have no choice about. But the way I see it, you’ll never learn to be happy with the new until you accept that change.”

“Atticus is… a good kid,” he conceded. “I don’t even really care about the pets. They’re fine. I’m just not going to feed them.”

“The fuck you’re not.”

“I just feel like...I don’t know. It’s dumb.”

“Yeah, probably is dumb coming from you,” Violet said. “Tell me anyway.”

“I think my family would be disappointed in me. Being a candy hunter. Running away with strangers. And when we add more… it becomes more permanent.”

“But were you ever going to go back in the first place?” Violet asked. He didn’t say anything but finally turned away from the window, readjusting his collar from the way Violet had messed it up in her grip. 

“See,” Violet scoffed, punching his shoulder good-naturedly. “Told you it was dumb.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi im alive but at what cost. anyone alive in this tag? sound off?
> 
> Art in this chapter is by Luminyan. Check them out on tumblr at https://emberchii.tumblr.com/


	5. One Picture

Bee felt all her anger fizzle out in one flicker. As it dimmed, confusion swelled. Puppycat held her gaze, not elaborating any further. The air somehow felt thinner. 

_My dad? Why would we need to find him?_

It wasn’t like Bee didn’t want to find him, but why now? And why did Puppycat decide to take the entire island hostage just to find Bee’s dad? She didn’t understand at all. After a second, she felt a hand on her shoulder.

“Bee, are you okay?”

Bee turned over her shoulder and saw Deckard looking at her, clearly concerned. Crispin was still standing where he’d been before, looking like he wanted to be anywhere else. 

“Puppycat, I...I don’t understand,” Bee said quietly, finally finding her composure by focusing on the weight of Deckard’s hand. 

“Wh-what did he say?” Deckard asked.

“Can you and Crispin go through that stuff in that room that’s in a pile?” Bee asked. She’d noticed on her way in. The interior of the ship was sleek and strange, all too empty and sterile for her liking. The one detail that she’d registered as being different was the entrance to a room -- the nearest room of a small side-hallway. The door had hinged open just slightly, revealing a small collection of cardboard boxes inside. 

“The boxes?” Crispin said.

Sure, Bee had been wondering about them since she spotted them coming in, but really, she just wanted a little bit of privacy, superficial as it might be. 

“Yes, the boxes!” Bee insisted. “Maybe they have...uh...spare parts.” The two brothers exchanged a look. 

“Whatever,” Crispin said. “I guess we could do that.” 

“Yeah,” Deckard said. He looked at Bee for a long time, though she didn’t really want to focus on what he might have been trying to tell her. Selfish as it was, she just wanted both of them gone so she could process what Puppycat said. She also knew that if she were to examine Deckard's prolonged look very closely, she’d find only concern and pity, both things she didn’t want to deal with. She didn’t care what state of disrepair she was in, she had been on her own for nearly twelve years, and she could talk about her dad just fine. 

Deckard eventually broke their gaze and followed Crispin into the small room. Bee noticed a tanned hand shut the door behind them, and she exhaled just a little bit.

“What’s this about my dad?” Bee asked Puppycat. Even with the door closed across the room, Bee kept her voice low. 

_“He made you.”_

“Yeah.”

_“And you need fixing.”_

“Yes, I know,” Bee said, getting frustrated. “I can see that.” Bee gestures at the chest, which was now covered up, thanks to Deckard, but still was lighting up occasionally when she emoted, indicating that her inner workings were exposed. 

_“Why didn’t you repair yourself with your dad-box?”_ Puppycat asked. 

Bee swallowed and looked down at her feet, flinching at the memory. She couldn’t blame the act on a glitch or entering her failsafe combat mode, which shut most of her brain off. She’d been fully conscious, _too_ conscious when she made the decision to rip the box apart and chuck it like the trash that it was. She had been so overwhelmed with emotion that she couldn’t register what it even was that had overloaded her. She’d never been so worked up over damage before. A similar thing had happened on the doughnut planet, after all, and that time, she’d arguably had more to be sad about, what with Deckard leaving for cooking school early. Most likely because of her. It hurt to think about that, so Bee shook her head and thought about the box again. 

She was sad, that had to be it. Crushed that her dad wasn’t there to really fix her. A box that imitated his voice and worked quickly to fix her up with all the intelligence and care that her dad had had was...nice to have. But it wasn’t a parent. A box couldn’t love her. How could he have ever thought it would be a suitable replacement for so many years? How could he have left without a word about where he was going or when he’d be back? How could he be so…

Oh. She was angry. She was angry at her dad. 

Bee collapsed onto her knees, the motion causing Puppycat to let out a high-pitched squeak of alarm. Bee crumpled in on herself, staring at the floor in horror. How could she...how could she possibly be mad at her dad? Was she really that selfish? She was strong enough to handle herself; he had known that when he left, or he wouldn’t have left in the first place. 

If Puppycat really was intending to find her dad (though she still didn’t understand why he’d come to the conclusion that he needed to do that), that meant she had to prepare herself to see him again. And if he found out she’d been so selfish that she’d gotten mad at him...after all he’d done to make her happy while he had been there…

“Yeeeeaaaah…” Bee said, dragging out the word as long as she could. She shifted on her heels a bit. “So, here’s the thing about my dad-box.”

Puppycat blinked at her expectantly.

“I sort of broke it. A bit.”

_“Why. Why did you do that.”_

“I didn’t mean to,” Bee mumbled. “I was upset.”

_“Who did it? I’ll kill them!”_

“I’m fine,” Bee said firmly, hoping her tone would indicate that the conversation was over. “Just broken.” Puppycat narrowed his eyes, his permanent scowl making him look absolutely livid. But Bee had been around him enough to know that he was just confused, but wasn’t about to ask for any clarification. For a pudgy little cat-thing, he sure had a lot of pride. 

_“We don’t have a lot of time,”_ Puppycat said. _“He better be where I think he is.”_

“Puppycat…” Bee grumbled. “You still aren’t making sense. Why are you so set on finding my dad? Why do you even think you know where to look for him? I’ve shown you like… one picture!”

Puppycat just stared back at her. 

“If we need to find him, we should just go back to Earth,” Bee said. “He always told me that if we got separated, to stay in the last place I was so he could come find me. He was talking about the mall, but I think that applies here too, a bit.” 

Puppycat apparently didn’t see any reason to respond to that, since he continued staring at her in silence for a minute before turning his head back around to fiddle with the controls in the captain’s chair. The navigation screen indicated they had twenty minutes until they reached their destination -- a planet she didn’t recognize from temp work and that was decidedly _not_ Earth. 

“There’s a lot of junk in here,” Crispin said. Bee startled a bit. She’d almost forgotten that Crispin and Deckard were just one room over, and that the pseudo-privacy she and Puppycat had was only temporary. Bee turned around and saw Deckard hauling a cardboard box out of the room. He met her eyes and smiled a little.

“I think someone used to live down here,” Deckard said. “Or, uh-- maybe lived here when it was...like a real ship? Like this?”

“Who could possibly need this many capes?” Crispin said blankly. He’d brought out a box of his own, and was rooting through it aggressively, throwing garments around. One of them landed on Puppycat, covering his face. Predicatibly, he let out a scream and struggled to remove it with frantic paws. 

“Hang on, hang on,” Bee said. She grabbed the cape and pulled it off Puppycat, whose fur was slightly fluffed both from indignation and the static from the garment. Heaving out a sigh, she stepped away from the captain’s chair and approached Deckard’s box, which was still closed. 

“What’s in yours?”

“Not sure,” Deckard said. He scratched briefly at the back of his neck. “I...kinda wanted to open it together.”

“Hell yeah!’ Bee said. “Let’s do it!”

Her insides churned and whirred with disgust. Her father had left her. How could he? _How could he?_ All she was left with were her memories and his scattered tech. Even in the ship’s interior, she could recognize her dad’s handiwork in the gadgets, the lights, in the very walls. She felt connected to the ship. They shared hardware, likely shared a maker. But it didn’t feel like home. And seeing Puppycat, someone who was supposed to be her friend, evading, pouting, and for some reason fitting in where he didn’t belong so much better than Bee could, was making her feel even more angry and even more disgusted.

Could Deckard tell that she was trying really hard to smile for him?

“Alright,” Deckard said. He nodded with determination. His fingers grasped the top of the box, pausing just as their tip rounded over the lip. “What is it that Tim says in his livestreams? Uh… ‘Welcome to another Unboxing’? Or something?”

“I don’t watch his livestreams,” Crispin grumbled. 

“Well, do you want to do the honors?” Deckard asked her.

“Yes. I do,” Bee said. Deckard removed his hands from the lid, and Bee was quick about tearing the top off as quickly as possible. 

“Un...boxing!” she yelled. 

The box was so packed full of miscellaneous things that Bee had a hard time differentiating any of it. Deckard looked like he was having a similar experience, his eyes darting from trinket to trinket, his frown deepening as he failed to identify any of it.

“Hmmmm...” Bee mused. “I don’t know who owns all the junk, but if we’re really going to find my dad, he’ll probably know. For now, let’s just put it back.”

_“Bring me the sword.”_

Bee turned around and saw Puppycat staring at her from the Captain's chair, completely turned around. The navigation screen showed that the ship was on autopilot. 

“The what?” Bee asked. She looked a little closer and saw a handle sticking out of it. She grasped it and pulled it out. It was a thin, light rapier made of silver. The blade was shiny when she blew the dust off, and the hilt was engraved with flowers Bee didn’t recognize. Part of her wondered if those flowers weren’t from Earth at all.

 _“Bring me the sword!”_ Puppycat chirped again.

“No!” Bee said, holding the sword closer to her body protectively. “You’ll hurt yourself with it.”

_“Will not.”_

“Yes, you will,” Bee said. “Your paws are too small for it, anyway.”

Puppycat hissed and looked down at his paws angrily.

_“Nothing you could have said would have hurt more.”_

“Tell you what,” Bee said. She dropped the sword to the ground and adjusted her good arm to put her hand on her hip. “If you can pick it up, you can have it.”

Bee figured that when he inevitably failed to pick it up properly, she could get him to spill some information as a bargaining chip. She never liked playing dirty to get things from people, but he was getting on her last nerve. Puppycat narrowed his eyes and hopped off the captain’s chair. Then he leaned down and picked up the sword, swinging it clumsily around.

“Ah!” Crispin yelped. “That cat has a sword! Bee, do something!” Puppycat, seemingly eager to cherish one of the only situations in which he could feasibly be feared, gave chase. Bee let out an exasperated sigh and waiting for the two of them to loop around, holding out her arm to stop Puppycat in his tracks. The sword slipped from where it was precariously grasped in his paw, hitting her arm with a _clang_. It left a little slit in her arm. 

“Hey!” Bee said. “This is why you can’t have it!”

_“...you got in my way.”_

“I had a nightmare just like this once,” Crispin said shakily. Bee noticed that he was cowering behind her, using her as a shield. 

“About this?” Deckard asked.

“Cats with _hands._ I blame Howell for it. And his stupid cafe. So, don’t make fun of me for running!”

“I wasn’t!” Deckard said, holding up his hands defensively. “I can’t blame you for finding Puppycat a little freaky...I mean, look at him. He has like...little raccoon hands.”

“Yeah,” Crispin said. “Bee, no offense, but your little animal friend creeps me out. Cass told me there was a time when his body just got all...melty and weird. I didn’t see it, but I believe it.”

“He’s still cute!” Deckard said, throwing his hands up defensively. “Just a little bit uh...horrifying?”

Crispin finally emerged from behind Bee and leaned down to get in close to Puppycat, observing him with a glare.

“Does he have...gills?”

“Where did you even find him, Bee?”

 _“Bee! Tell them to stop making fun of me!”_ Puppycat screeched.

“Hey, you brought this on yourself,” Bee said. “You chased Crispin with a sword. I thought you were more mature than that, though I’m not sure _why._ ” Puppycat let out a few grumbling noises and slunk back over to the Captain’s chair.

_“Whatever. We’re landing soon.”_

“Landing where?” Bee asked. “I’m coming with.”

“Are you sure that’s a good idea, Bee?” Deckard said. “I...er...I know you can handle yourself. It’s just...what with your dah-damage and all…”

“Puppycat thinks we might find my dad there,” Bee confessed.

“Your dad?” Crispin said. “Yeah, that sounds real likely. We haven’t seen the dude since you were like twelve.” Bee felt a surge of sadness and saw the muted light beneath her borrowed shirt reflect that. She quickly covered her chest with her arms and hoped with all her might that neither of the brothers would bring it up.

Deckard shot Crispin a look.

“What?” Crispin said. “Am I wrong?”

“I know,” Bee said. “I’m...not really expecting anything either. But I have to go with him so I can see for myself, okay? I’ll be fine.”

Deckard looked like he was about to protest, but before he could the ship shook, nearly knocking all of them off their feet. Bee whipped her head around to see Puppycat messing frantically with the controls, clearly struggling to reach the controls on opposite arms of the chair at once with his tiny limbs. 

“Do you need some help?” Bee asked.

_“No!”_

…

Their destination, it turned out, was a small planet, probably about the size of their island-sized spaceship. Puppycat hadn’t actually landed the ship, not really. Instead, she’d followed him as he led her to an emergency ejection tunnel that propelled them toward the planet at an alarming speed. Bee had no idea when he’d even had the time to find (much less learn how to use) that particular feature of the ship. 

Bee managed to land on her feet with the help of a fair amount of waving her arms to steady herself. The impact shook the planet a bit, and she scarcely had time to register the unfamiliar shouts from the trees above before Puppycat fell on top of her. 

“Hey, get off!” Bee yelled. With some flailing, the two managed to both stand up, Puppycat brushing the dirt out of his fur with indignation. Once they’d both collected themselves, Puppycat started walking, at a much more determined pace than was normal. Bee frowned to herself as she followed. Despite her attempts to interrogate him earlier, he’d really given her nothing. She still had no idea what his endgame was, why they were on this particular planet, or why he even thought that finding her dad was so important he had to hold the Wizards, Bee, Toast, (and that other guy Deckard mentioned who she hadn’t seen yet) hostage. She’d hoped to understand a little better once they landed, but nothing about the planet was sticking out to her as familiar.

“Intruders!” a voice screeched from above. 

Bee looked up into the thick canopy above them and saw a rope descend from the heights, followed by the blur of something descending it quickly. When the creature landed, Bee could see it resembled a tiny house, with arms, legs, and a very displeased expression.

 _“I want to speak to the President of the homeowner’s association,”_ Puppycat chirped. _“Is he in?”_

“Good sir,” the house said, recoiling a bit in disgust. “This is not a _homeowner’s association._ That is barbaric. We upgraded long ago to a Gated Community. And we do not have a president. Everything is decided by a committee of three, the members of which are elected bi-weekly. Though, if you were to request an audience with the current committee, I doubt they’d be willing to speak with an earthling and a...little….monster...thing.”

_“I’m not a thing!”_

“We’re looking for an Atticus,” Bee said, her voice faltering as she said her father’s name. It sounded foreign, after all this time. As a child, she’d always called him “Dad”, and saying his name so clinically felt wrong. “Is there anyone here who--”

“Oh,” the house said. “Him. Yes, he was kidnapped many, many years ago. But we learned to evolve without him. Walk with me. I suppose I can show you.”

The switch in behavior was a bit jarring, as was the revelation that her dad, or someone with the same name, was here and was kidnapped. But it was something. It was a trail. The house led them along the surface of the planet, which was covered in tall grass, darting in between the large trunks of trees. As they walked, Bee looked above and saw hundreds of tiny house people chatting, laughing, and dozing off among the branches. 

Thankfully, the building they were heading for was a regular building that seemed to have no sentience whatsoever. Bee decided not to let herself mull that weirdness over in her head too long and instead opened the door for the house and Puppycat, taking in the inside. It was a small, cramped little town-hall-esque building, with three large chairs sitting at a single desk. The walls were covered in paintings, most of them attributed to the same house named “Snurg”. They all seemed to be self-portraits of varying quality. The only real piece of interest in the room was a picture of two teenagers hanging behind the desk, marked with the plaque “Banned From Entry”.

Bee stepped close to the picture, pouting a little. There was something about the girl with the bobbed purple hair…

“Hey, Puppycat, check it out,” she said. She glanced down to look at him, only to discover that he was already staring at the picture as well. “That girl looks kind of like Cardemon’s mom, doesn’t she?”

Puppycat fixed his gaze on her.

_“No.”_

“Well, I think it looks like her,” Bee mumbled under her breath. 

“...as you can see,” the house was saying. It must have been talking for a while, completely wrapped up in what it felt to be a terribly intriguing history of their planet’s system of government. Bee felt like she was back in high school and wanted to bang her head repeatedly against the wall. Too much information that didn’t matter at once.

“Ugh…” she let slip under her breath. “This is why I dropped out of school.”

 _“Me too,”_ Puppycat chirped.

“Huh?” Bee said. “What kind of school did you go to?”

“Are you even listening?” the house’s voice screeched, the noise etching between them like a crowbar. 

_“No.”_

“What! How dare you!” the house exclaimed. “Why, I ought to--”

The revelation of whatever the house “ought to” do was delayed by the _bang_ of the front door swinging open so violently that it hit the wall like a bullet. 

“I contacted the authorities while you stalled!” another house proclaimed. It had a slightly-lower, but still scratchy voice. Bee recognized the other house as “Snurg”, the subject of the self-portraits on the wall. He had a little medal around his roof that read “Committee Member”.

“Right,” a new voice said. There were two figures in long, dark capes standing behind the tiny house, taking in the interior. “Where are the intruders? An earthling and a strange cat thing you said?” He sounded tired, Bee noted. And too extravagantly dressed to be employed by one planet’s gated community.

“Oh hey!” the shorter of the strange, caped men yelled. “It’s him! Bertrand, over there! This is crazy! He’s right here!”

 _“Your dad’s not here. Time to go.”_ Puppycat looked horrified, even his cute little chirps coming out with a haunting edge to them. She’d never seen him go that stiff. 

“I see him, Archie,” Bertrand said. He brought a hand to his temple and messaged his own forehead, presumably. It was hard to tell underneath the cloak, but he seemed to be nursing a headache.

“Boy, oh boy,” the figure, Archie, apparently, said. “Has it been a long time since we’ve seen you! Real sorry about what happened, I don’t know what went wrong, but no hard feelings about it, right?”

Puppycat didn’t say anything but narrowed his eyes at the two men. Bee took a defensive stance, eyeing the two figures warily. What did they want with Puppycat? Were these the people who’d been chasing them around?

_“Bee, we need to go. Punch them, and let’s get out of here!”_

“Uh, okay…” Bee said. She wasn’t a fan of the way he was acting, but if Puppycat wanted to get away this badly, they clearly were in some sort of danger. She stepped in front of him and drew back her fist threateningly.

“Goodness me!” the house at their feet yelled. “We do not condone violence of any sort here!”

“Thank you,” Bertrand said. “Can we just do our job then? We just need the monster. Space Queen’s orders.”

“The...Space Queen?” Bee asked. She was sure she’d never heard of a monarch like that. She looked over her shoulder at Puppycat to gauge his reaction, but his expression had turned entirely blank. 

“Of course,” Bertrand continued. “We are the royal warlocks. I believe you’ve been engaged in a...kerfuffle with our children recently. But, after they failed to apprehend the fugitive, they were fired and we have to clean up this mess. Honestly, Archie, how long is this going to take? We can’t miss Poker night again.”

“There will be no fighting or seizing of any kind!” Snurg the house said. 

“But...you called the authorities,” Bertrand said tiredly.

“Yep!”

“Because you said strange people were causing a disturbance.”

“Sure did.”

“And one of those people is an intergalactic criminal wanted for regicide.”

_Regicide?_

“Well, I didn’t know that. Is that why you two showed up instead of the cops?”

“Of course we did!” Archie cut in brightly. “It’s our job now after all. Anything to serve the Space Queen -- long may she reign!”

 _“Bee,”_ Puppycat said. _“We need to go.”_

Bee nodded. Then she stepped forward toward the two figures, the warlocks, apparently, and raised her fist again.

“We’re going to leave now,” Bee said. “By ourselves. Because I don’t really understand why you guys called the cops in the first place.”

“That’s the thing we’re best at!” Snurg remarked. “Calling the cops on suspicious characters!”

“Well, that sounds fine to me!” Archie said. “What do you think, Bertrand? We’ll probably see them around, right?”

“No,” Bertrand said tiredly. “We’re here to do a job, remember?” 

Bee was tired of listening to them, and Puppycat was clearly getting antsier by the minute. Not breaking eye contact, she carefully kneeled down, reached behind her, and picked him up. Puppycat let out a little noise of surprise at being picked up but didn’t protest being held like he usually did. Bee considered her options and decided to go with what was stupidest, yet most efficient. 

“AHHHHH!” Bee yelled, running straight forward and pushing between the two warlocks, completely bowling them over in the process. She could hear their stammered yells of protest but just kept running, not paying them any mind. “Stop following us, you jerks!” Bee added as she ran.

_“And tell the queen that she’s a bitch!”_

“Puppycat!” Bee protested. “How could you say something like that?”

“Um, no,” Bertrand said. “We won’t be doing that.”

“How dare you!” Archie screeched.

Bee ran as fast as she could, aware of the trunks of trees whipping past her and nearly stepping on about three house people on the way. Her legs felt like they were ready to give out. Something was loose in one of them, and she didn’t have Deckard to support her. She could fall apart at any minute…

Finally, the ship came into view, so Bee prepared the rocket blasters in her feet and jumped off the surface of the planet toward the ship, getting a bush’s worth of leaves and sticks stuck in her hair in the process. She realized too late that she wasn’t aiming towards anything but the metal side of the ship and starting yelling in a panic. Puppycat, however, just rang the bell around his collar, and the familiar magic used for their temp work overtook the two of them. The next thing Bee knew, they were both landing on the ship, up on the surface of it in her apartment. 

As soon as she got her bearings, she saw Puppycat bolt away, probably to take control of the ship and get it out of there, away from those warlocks. Bee looked down at her legs and saw that one of her feet was partially detached. She grimaced. She knew that using her rocket blasters would be risky. It looked like she wouldn’t be accompanying Puppycat any other place he bothered looking, at least not on her own. 

_I’m useless._

Bee grabbed a throw pillow and held it to her face, embracing the comfort of the plushiness and the loneliness of the darkness. 

_I’m sorry, Dad._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you ever just completely ignore the canon warlocks and replace them unceremoniously with your own warlocks because you can? yeah
> 
> the wonderful art of Bertrand and Archie is by lumiyan! please check them out at https://emberchii.tumblr.com/
> 
> I'm also on tumblr! come say hi!
> 
> https://lazyinspaceandonearth.tumblr.com/
> 
> also thanks to all of you who leave nice comments on this fic! you guys are real ones <3


	6. Lucky Swing

Any sort of alone time was a rare treasure on the ship, and he intended to make full use of every minute. He had to master this before Violet ever knew that he was practicing. If she never caught him in the learning stage, she wouldn’t be able to make fun of him. For that specific thing. She always found something to make fun of him for. But sword fighting...sword fighting was just for him. 

He knew that he could never truly learn how to use the ornate rapier he’d acquired without a sparring partner, or heck, anything to aim at besides his stack of decorative pillows, but that was fine, he decided. There was an appeal to using the sword that went beyond its usefulness as a weapon. It was a deadly extension of his movements. He practiced guiding its blade through the air with careful intention like he was brushing a hand through a pool of water. 

He’d been put in that school because he lacked any sort of control. His mom had said something like that, once upon a time, in a few more words and with a few more swears. Even though he knew it was true, he’d always resented that fact. But he was old enough to be comfortable in his own skin, and damn it, he was taking control, one late-night practice session at a time. 

His only real point of reference for how to fight with the rapier was some show he’d long forgotten the name of that he remembered watching on the TV. There’d been a charismatic hero with shining white teeth and perfect hair, who wielded a sword to protect… something. Perhaps the world. He couldn’t remember the details. He couldn’t have been older than six cycles when he’d seen it. Letting the sword drop with his arm, he halted his movements for a second as he strained to remember. He’d been sent away around that age to the correctional school. Had it really been so long since he’d lived at home? If his mother saw him now, would she be proud of him for working on his control of his own accord after so many years?

She’d be more likely to chastise him for having the weapon, for becoming a candy hunter, for running away. That is, if she recognized him at all. Despite knowing all these things, he found that he still missed her. It was stupid, and in all likelihood not mutual.

In his chest sat the ever-present deep longing to get something back that he couldn’t quite remember, and maybe never had in the first place.

He lunged forward and stabbed pointedly at the air. 

…

“Ugh. Just money this time? Weak.”

Violet tossed aside the package that had been magically delivered into the ship, the coins within clattering against each other a bit with the movement. The box had no return address, as per usual, but it was recognizable. They’d been receiving these “prizes” ever since they’d worked their way up through the candy-hunting ranks to make it to the Top 10 for several consecutive weeks. The first package had brought the sword, _his_ sword, though he hadn’t told Violet that. He’d found the package first while she was away playing hide and seek with Atticus, and he’d told her that they simply didn’t get any prizes. Maybe because it was their first week on the leaderboard, he had pretended to hypothesize. He was glad he’d taken the initiative to hide the beautiful weapon away. It was, by far, the most interesting prize they had yet to receive.

“Money is always helpful,” Atticus remarked. He turned a page in his book, kicking his feet. They didn’t even begin to reach the ground. “I need some new parts. Also...food!” 

“Yeah…” Violet said. “I was hoping for a weapon. Can you make me another one of those laser cannons?” Atticus frowned, an expression far too adult for someone only three cycles old. 

“No!” Atticus squeaked. “You’ll put another hole in the ship.”

“Yeah, _Violet_ ,” he remarked. He stepped toward Violet and poked her, letting his cape flutter a bit with the movement. “You’re so irresponsible.”

Violet rolled her eyes, but her smile betrayed her. They were still fresh to the candy-hunting brackets, having only joined about two cycles prior, but they were damn good at what they did. Violet’s ruthlessness and Atticus’ inventions kept “Team Puppycat” consistently a few paces ahead of their peers, securing them a position right on the cusp of the veterans. And he… well, he knew he was bringing something to the team too, otherwise Violet would have abandoned him on some planet long ago, but he couldn’t say for certain what his use was. He was just relieved that he apparently had one and did his utmost to make himself more useful before Atticus or Violet realized what a mess he was. 

Case in point, he was starting to get anxious to show off his rapier.

“Besides,” he said, faux casually. “They sent us a weapon the very first week.”

“I would’ve remembered that,” Violet said.

“Yeah, you would’ve,” he agreed. “If I hadn’t taken it for myself first.”

“You dick!” Violet hissed. She slapped at his arm playfully. “Show me! Show me, show me, show me!”

“Yeah!” Atticus said, slamming his book closed and kicking his feet even faster in excited anticipation. 

“Fine,” he said, smirking. “I would love to.” He loved being the center of attention, and he had no trouble admitting that to himself. For all his shortcomings, his well-documented “control issues”, his dim-wittedness that he was all too aware of, and his frustratingly thin skin, he was fantastic at putting on a show. He had to be. If he looked like he knew what he was doing, most people didn’t really care what lay underneath. He liked it that way. He could control the way he came off to people, even if he didn’t dare delve into what lay beneath the surface.

He retreated to his room to retrieve his treasure that was stashed carefully underneath his bed. Just grasping the handle made his heart start to race in anticipation. With it in his hand, he was more than himself. His veins buzzed from the pure electricity of his own potential with it. He’d finally made himself what his mother, his teachers, and the world at large had told him he never could be -- valuable. He was in control of his fate now.

Sword in hand, he exited his room and paraded over to his expectant teammates, feeling his stitched-on smile rip open into a far more honest hungry grin. 

“It’s _mine_ ,” he said immediately, establishing order before Violet could try to con it out of him with her trademark flimflam. “I called dibs.”

“Clearly,” Violet said. “It suits you. All those prissy flowers on the handle.” But Violet’s envious gaze didn't elude him. She found the weapon just as desirable as he did, and unlike the ship, he had firmly laid his claim to it. 

_Besides,_ he couldn’t help but think slyly to himself. _She wouldn’t know how to use it, anyway. She’d probably just smack it against something until it went down._

“So…” he prompted. “Do you want to spar?”

“But I don’t have a sword to duel you with,” Violet pointed out. “Maybe if we move further up the ranking we’ll get another one with the prizes.”

“No, what I was thinking was this,” he said. “I attack with the sword, and you stop me by any means necessary.”

That made Violet’s face light up like a blazing star, her grin growing a little wider. 

“Oh, hell yes.”

“No!” Atticus protested. 

Violet wasted no time, practically diving over the toddler to steal his hammer. It looked a lot like a toy, but then again, Atticus had been able to use it to build significant extensions to the ship, as well as many gadgets of highly varying usefulness. If it was durable enough for that, it wouldn't be a terrible improvised weapon to go against his sword. Ignoring Atticus’ protests, Violet extended the hammer out and started swinging it. 

As he’d imagined, Violet was sloppy when she fought with a weapon. Her movements were backed up by her signature intensity, but she was more forceful than she was graceful. He, however, had been preparing for this moment for a while. Releasing a breath, he jabbed the rapier forward, arcing it at the last moment to cleanly knock the hammer just so. Violet fumbled and lost her grip on the tool, but recovered quickly, jumping back and crouching lower to the ground, excitement sparking in her eyes. 

“Lucky swing,” she quipped. 

“You think?” he countered. 

Violet lunged at him in response to that, grabbing him by the waist and tackling him to the floor. He let out an embarrassing yelp as the wind was knocked out of him, but deftly rolled over to escape Violet’s grip. He grabbed for the rapier quickly before Violet could snatch it, and the scowl that crossed her face betrayed that that was exactly her intention. 

“Ha!” he spat out. “Give up yet?”

Violet sneered at him and stumbled to her feet, taking off running toward the corner of the navigation room where a small, well-loved couch sat that they’d pilfered on one of the odd jobs they’d done before becoming candy hunters. Violet picked up a cushion from the couch and chucked it at his head. He carefully dodged it, lighter on his feet than he’d ever felt before. Each stride was a kick in the gut to everyone who had ever dismissed him as a clumsy loser, Violet included. She chucked a second pillow his way, clearly aimed at his head. Acting quickly, he swung the sword up, slashing the pillow open and sending feathers flying everywhere. Violet cackled in laughter from where she was.

“If you did that to my stomach, do you think my guts would fly everywhere like that?”

“Huh,” he said. “I don’t know.”

“Let’s not find out!” Atticus screeched from his workbench. 

“Spoilsport!” Violet said. “But fine, I’ll just tear out Ḍ̷̞̽̈́e̵͙͓̿͠l̴͙̞̿̊ẉ̷̼y̵̛̛̞̣n̸͙̳̓̂’s guts with my bare hands!” She charged toward him, Atticus’ little jaw dropping in horror. Giving up all pretense of continuing the fight seriously, he dropped the sword to the ground and started laughing, letting Violet tackle him to the ground and attempt to pin him in a headlock. He kneed her sharply in the ribs, and she finally relented, leaving them in an exhausted, sweaty pile.

“Alright. Your sword is cool,” Violet admitted. “You been practicing?”

“A little,” he lied, trying to sound nonchalant.

“Liar. Nerd.” 

He frowned a little, grateful that Violet couldn’t see his expression, since his face was being pressed into the ground. He held back a sigh. Maybe he was stupid for thinking she’d miraculously see him differently after showing her that he knew how to use the sword. She probably knew just how set he was on making himself useful, which meant that any attempts to do so would be judged not on the merits of how he’d improved himself, but instead on the apparently hilarious notion that he felt he needed to improve himself at all. 

He was sure Violet never felt that way. She never had regrets or second thoughts. She was the one who dragged him along in the first place, so her place on the ship was secure. She was unshakable. He hated that. 

“Hmm…” Atticus said. 

The noise interrupted his seething inner monologue. Groaning, he shoved Violet off of his back and sat up, raising an inquisitive eyebrow at Atticus.

“Uh...what?” he asked.

“I’m thinking,” Atticus said. He rested his hand on his chin and bit at his thin lips. “Mmmm...it’s weird.”

“What is?” Violet chirped. She’d yet to get up from the floor, content to carry on the conversation with her gaze fixed on the ceiling of the ship.

“The prizes, I guess,” Atticus mused. “We don’t even know who’s sending them, and while money and goods make sense...hmmm...sending a weapon seems odd.”

“What’s so odd about it?” he said, reaching again for his rapier and turning it over in his hands. “It’s not like candy hunting is the _safest_ profession. And besides, since we’ve gotten into the top rankings, Violet and I have had to throw a few punches just to get back with the goods.” He let out a satisfied little laugh. “Those other teams would just _love_ to take us down a notch.”

“Heh heh…” Violet chuckled. “Yeah, I bet they would.”

“And also…” Atticus hesitated. He tapped his little fingers on the table, getting momentarily entranced by them before finding his words again. “Isn’t it weird that it’s all anonymous...and that candy hunting is seen by everyone to be a seedy, borderline illegal practice...all while the mysterious benefactor who funds it all seems to be quite well-off?”

He looked over at Violet and made eye contact with her. She just shrugged sheepishly. 

“I have no idea what you’re getting at,” he said to Atticus. “And I don’t really care, so long as we get paid.”

At that moment, the ship’s navigation interface began to flash with it’s telltale “CANDY DETECTED” message. He turned his gaze out the expansive pane of glass that made up the side of the room, and sure enough, they were just passing by a tiny planet. 

“You up for it?” he asked Violet.

“Eh,” she said, finally standing up and stretching. “Not really. I was going to make some food. We’ll find some tomorrow -- that planet looks tiny anyway.”

He frowned at that. He’d really been hoping to take his sword for a _real_ spin, but if Violet wasn’t up for it, he supposed it couldn’t hurt to wait.

It would. It would hurt a lot to wait. He absolutely couldn’t wait. 

“I’ll go alone, then,” he declared. “Save some food for me.”

“I won’t!” Violet promised. Then, without another word, she bounded out of the room, towards the tiny kitchen that was stashed away toward the back of the ship. It was fine. Just because they’d always hunted together didn’t mean he wasn’t perfectly capable of getting the job done himself. Brushing his pants off and adjusting his cape, he started to make his way out of the room toward the ejection tunnel.

Then he felt something squeezing his leg and stopped in his tracks.

“You’re going alone?”

He sighed and looked down, seeing Atticus’ pudgy face staring up at him, eyes full of worry.

“Yeah, what’s the big deal?” he asked.

“You...just said it was dangerous, is all…” Atticus said. “If other teams are...are trying to hurt you and Violet, you shouldn’t go alone!”

“Ugh,” he said, kicking slightly to try to shake the kid off.

Atticus hugged his leg tighter. 

“Listen,” he tried again. “Violet was right earlier. I’ve been practicing a lot! Go activate the ejection tunnel for me, and I’ll be back, as always, much sooner than I want.”

His words didn’t seem to necessarily make Atticus feel better, but they did get him to let go of his leg, which was all he really wanted out of the interaction anyway. 

“Okay,” Atticus said. “See you soon.”

…

He remembered someone saying once, perhaps at school, that there was a phenomenon that caused people to remember every little detail about a traumatic event. Every heartbeat. Every putrid smell and speck of dust that coated their clothes. Every voice that pierced through the air like a needle that joined others to create a quilt of cruel words, shouts, and screams across the sky. 

He remembered every detail, and also nothing at all.

He’d left the ship and landed safely, walking on the surface of the planet through caves lined with crystals, in search of the promised candy. He remembered the gems, remembered wondering how much they were worth, and if it was worth his time to pursue them rather than what he’d come for. The dark, dank walls of the cave echoed every noise, so he remembered the sound of his own breaths better than almost anything.

After some walking, he’d heard other voices, though it was impossible to determine their sources when every sound was everywhere in the cave at once. One voice, a rich feminine one, talking to another more hushed, monotone voice.

He’d conclude days later, once it was too late, that this was the Space Queen and the very servant who he’d passed as he fled after everything was all over, who had seen the bloodied sword clenched in his hand. 

The other voices...he couldn’t remember those as well. Were there three? Maybe ten? Other candy hunters, they had to be. Or perhaps particularly aggressive and murder-happy miners. He couldn’t remember their faces, but he remembered how it felt when he was struck from behind, hard, vision growing hazy with colors and blurs while he felt his precious sword slip cleanly out of his grip. A single phrase.

“Candy-hunting trash.”

It was a blur, but he held onto those details. Someone had struck him, someone had taken the sword and…

All he could recall was the swing of a dark cloak in his vision as he was knocked out. Another candy hunting team -- it had to be. There was no other reason for someone to come after him. No one out in the universe cared enough about him to want to take him out, he had figured at the time in his fleeting consciousness.

He remembered time passing, but he couldn’t guess how much. The caves had been silent when he woke up, and his only thought was that he had to retrieve his sword. 

He’d found it plunged into the heart of an ornately dressed young man with a crown on his head. Across from him, also bloodied, was an older woman in a gown soiled by gushing blood. She had no crown, but her lavish jewelry and larger-than-life presence, even in death, indicated that she was of a similar bloodline. 

He’d yanked the sword out of the defiled royal body and ran, heart pounding, knees ready to give way at any second. The caves were a blur. He remembered the dust sitting on his tongue as he panted, the ache of his feet as he stepped over sharp rocks and pressed forward, hand clenching the sullied weapon in a death grip. 

He’d nearly bowled over the servant. He remembered their pointy ears and inquisitive eyes that flooded with fear as they caught sight of the crimson liquid that coated the rapier, dripping on the floor of the cave and echoing about, echoing forever. They shrieked and took off past him, with a cry of “Your Majesty!” He hadn’t paid them much mind, even though he’d had the means to silence them right there. 

There was no use pontificating about what he could have done differently, which other candy-hunting team had set him up and why, where the Space Prince had even come from, or why royalty was on a dingy, gem-filled planet to begin with. Because no amount of details he could recall would change the consequences.

He made it back safely, and when he woke up the next day, every screen in the galaxy was projecting his face and name on a wanted poster. And from that moment on, that's what he was. A renegade criminal. A candy hunter. 

An out-of-control madman who committed double regicide.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi im still working on this!
> 
> PLEASE GIVE ME FEEDBACK IF YOU HAVE IT!! I CRAVE VALIDATION!!


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